


Professor?

by gee_oh_wilkers



Category: Troy Baker - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, Romance, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship, Voice Acting, i hate writing for real people but here i am hoho, yikes i can't believe i wrote this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gee_oh_wilkers/pseuds/gee_oh_wilkers
Summary: A moment between a substitute teacher and you is shared. By just a quick glance, you can instantly feel your world shape around him. You couldn't help yourself but to want to know more about him. But what would happen when you have just enough of a common interest to be invited to see him later?





	1. The Substitute

"Alright, hey guys, sit for a second in your seats."

His voice was at such ease that you felt like you could glide across each constant and vowel. You knew his voice and you knew his face, but not personally. He was a music teacher, but today, he was your substitute teacher for your Theater elective. You were certain he had zero knowledge on anything theatrical, other than playing a few soundtracks from musicals.

His name was Troy Baker, and you would pass each other when he was leaving and you were going to this elective. You always noticed how he dressed so nicely, and took pride in his hair like it was a trophy, but clearly that wasn't a reason for you to talk to him.

He looked over the roster of the students, looking for any familiar names. After seeming to find a name, his head lifted and his eyes surfed the group of students. He then smiled and greeted one of his literature students. You watched the conversation happen, not really listening, but just staring. It's not like you could hear that much anyway, everyone was roaring up a conversation.

Just as Troy's conversation came to a close, his eyes slowly glazed over yours before falling back to his desk. Though it was only but a millisecond, the feeling of being acknowledged by him was so wonderful. He began to call attendance, name by name, inching closer to your's. "Y/F/N?"

You looked up from your desk, that apparently was occupying your attention fairly well. You raised your hand and offered a warm smile. Mr. Baker looked at you, penetrating your soul with his deep eyes. It was almost too much to bear, but you couldn't break from it. You even tried to force your head away, but your eyes stayed. Finally, he broke the eye contact and looked back at his roster with a smirk.

Your eyes darted to the surface of your desk in embarrassment, afraid your cheeks were blazing with red. Mr. Baker then got up from his seat, and stood behind a podium, holding the edges of the wood board.

"So," he began to lean forward on the stand, "I have no clue what you guys do for this class, but your teacher wrote on this paper that you need to go to page 78 of your textbook and read the chapter and write some notes. Then after you're done, come to me and show me your notes so I can check you off this list."

The class groaned. Nothing is more annoying than busy work. You were the first to get started as you plopped your textbook onto your desk. The pages whispered as you flipped through, and clicked your pen. You wrote down the title, 'Tableau'. Time for fun.

One quarter through the filler paper, your ears rung to the noise of guitar. You furrowed your brows in confusion, 'what the hell?'. You looked up, and on the projector screen was a bearded man, violently hipster, playing the instrument. "It sounded too quiet..sorry," mumbled Mr. Baker. You couldn't help but to smirk, he was such kept adding to his indie aesthetic.

It was soft to the ears, molding to the shape of your canals. The way the guitarist's fingers glided with the strings enchanted you. From one string to another, picking away. Your eyes then glared observingly at Mr. Baker. The resemblance of the musician and him was uncanny. The beard, the hair...the kind eyes that were so marveled by the strings. It seemed so much like him, but the brown hair separated him from the blonde. The brown roots of Mr. Baker's hair could point to him dying his hair, but it seemed unlikely.

As you look down from the screen and back to him, his eyes darted from yours. 'Was he just looking at me?', you thought. 'Maybe he just saw me staring at the screen and was concerned I wasn't working-- that does make sense.' You went back to writing with an embarrassed smile wiped across your face. Your cheeks were still red from the encounter, so at least when you looked down it wasn't that noticeable.

Second to last being done, you get from your seat and walk over to him with your paper in hand. Mr. Baker is hunched over the desk with the computer, looking at more songs to play. "Here's my paper, sir." Directly after, your cursed at yourself for calling him 'sir'. He was too laid back to be a 'sir'. Caught up too much in your thoughts, you notice he is about done reading what you have wrote. "Alright," he said, his eyes piercing yours, "thanks Y/N, you're all good."

You took the paper from his hands, spun on your heels, and walked away with the most guilty face ever. The fact that he could say your name once was nice, but  _twice_ was almost too much for you to handle. Especially the eye contact, you just couldn't bring yourself to get over the eye contact.

As the last student showed him the paper, Mr. Baker then assigned the next assignment which was along the lines of acting out scenes of famous films. He sat a desk watching the scenes come together. His cute laugh filled the room as students performed scenes from Star Wars, Titanic, and even the Lion King. You loved the way his eyes crinkled as he laughed, and the way his smile grew so much more wide. He was just so cute you couldn't handle it.

Almost too quickly, class came to an end. You slowly packed your belongings up, purposely letting the entire class file out. You then approached Mr. Baker with a kind smile and warm cheeks. "Hey, uh Mr. Baker, I was wondering how you found that music? It's so obscure. Are you really into indie music that much?"

He laughed quietly, "oh well actually I produce my own music so it was just a matter of time before I found some 'obscure' music." You were taken back, "wait, hold on, what?"

"I've been making music for a few years, isn't that surprising? A music teacher who makes music?"

"Funny," you said, not laughing. "So I am guessing you play the guitar then, telling by all the indie vibes?"

"Indie vibes, I guess you're the funny one now. If you stop by my classroom at the end of the day, I could show you some things I wrote."

Your heart skipped a beat as he invited you to see him later. Sure, it wasn't a date but it was definitely good enough for you. Dating a teacher as a student would be wrong anyway, right?

"Yeah," your chest tightened, "yeah, sure."

"Alright I'll be expecting you."

 


	2. Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a song within this chapter called, "Always on My Mind" by Elvis Presley. Here's a link if you want to listen to it: https://youtu.be/Za8cpM6cGYk

You stood at the corridor of Mr. Baker's door, and knocked on the metal frame. He looked up from a pile of papers on his desk, and smirked, "Ready for some 'indie vibes'?" You physically cringed when he quoted you. You still couldn't believe you said that.

In a wash of discomfort, your hand retreated to brushing through your hair, tracing all the way to the back of your head. "Well, now that you put it that way," you acted as if you were leaving. He laughed and reached out his hand, "wait wait, come back. We haven't even gotten started!"

The two of you shared a sweet smile and moment, until returning to your purpose of visiting. You then walked over to a desk, and sat on top of the surface. Mr. Baker grabbed his guitar that was resting in its stand on the wall. "Alright, you get a choice. You want me to play the recorded version online, or play it live for you first."

"Uh, live? Is that even a question?" You couldn't believe he would have even asked that. Why listen to something online when the real deal is right there. Plus, it's him. Mr. Baker. Infront of you.

He cocked his right brow at your answer, almost impressed by your choice. Mr. Baker rolled over his desk chair, and propped the acoustic guitar on his thigh. His left hand then held the neck of the guitar, thinking of what to play. You looked up to see his overly concentrated face focusing on his fingering. The more you stared, the more you couldn't believe he was real. He had this beautiful mane of scruff, with an equally beautiful hairstyle. His deep eyes that lead directly to his soul. Everything about him was just beautiful.

Mr. Baker began to play his guitar, almost like a symphony. Even though it wasn't what a symphony is usually defined as, almost the exact opposite, it was still serene. He was playing something that was along the lines of blues, or something sort of slow. It was hard to explain, but whatever it was, you loved it.

Suddenly, his voice sung out. You were so stunned by him starting to sing, all noise became quiet for a few moments. You couldn't help but to cover your mouth from letting a gasp escape. The sparkle in your eyes couldn't help but to jump from each of his eyes, then to his lips. So much was happening, so much your heart couldn't quite handle. He eyes looked up from the guitar and at you, but his head remained down. A slick smile hit your heart like a bullet, did he know what he was doing?

The song shortly came to an end, unfortunately. You smiled and clapped wildly. "That was amazing Mr. Baker! How'd you learn to do that? That was brilliant!"

He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair, "sounds like I have a fan now." You rolled your eyes, and looked away, "let's not get ahead of ourselves now."

After a short laugh, Mr. Baker cleared his throat, "did you like it? It was Elvis." "Elvis? I thought you were gonna show me music you wrote."

"Well, I have been practicing the song for a while so I thought might as well try it out with an audience. It's called 'Always on My Mind'."

 _Always on My Mind_. For a second, you almost didn't realize what he said. He basically just serenaded you with a love song, and you were too busy in the moment to listen to the lyrics. You cursed at yourself for not paying attention to him. Or maybe for paying too much attention to him.

"You know how to play?"

'Me? Play? God how am I supposed to play after he did that--  _that_  beautiful thing?!'

You grabbed the guitar by the neck as he handed it to you. "Listen, I have no clue what I'm--" "Guitar seriously isn't that hard. Hold it like how I held it."

You awkwardly shifted on the desk, resting the body of the guitar on your thigh. Then you positioned your left hand on the neck as he did.

"Alright I want you to put your pointer finger here," he pointed to the second fret of the guitar. "Your middle here, and then your index here." You did so, and he nodded. "That's a D."

"Next chord," the blonde instructed, "go to the second fret and put your pointer, middle, and index finger on these strings."

He took your hand, and placed them correctly on the guitar. He touched you. You could barely contain the scream your inner happiness. "Okay, so that's an A chord. Real easy." Your quivering hand could say otherwise.

"Okay, uh," Mr. Baker then got up from his chair and pointed to it. "Sit here for a second, it will be easier for you to play." You did as you were told, and sat down in the seat. He then stood behind you, and took your hands, placing them where they needed to be. You could feel his breath on the nape of your neck, tickling you with delight. Although he clearly did not know how much joy his closeness gave you, maybe it's possible that he was enjoying it too?

After showing you about three more chords, he sat down infront of you. "Alright, strum the D chord," he instructed, and you began to try and mimick the way he strummed. As you glided the guitar pick across the strings, you heard him sing.

_Maybe I didn't treat you,_

Between each verse he would tell you the chord you had to jump to. It felt like a duet.

_Quite as good as I should have,_

He stared at the strings vibrating below your fingertips, almost in a trance like state.

_Maybe I didn't love you,_

You watched his lips as they pressed against each other between lines. He was so focused.

_Quite as often as I should have,_

He was so alive.

_Little things I should have said and done,_

He was so real.

_I just never took the time._

He was constantly invading your thoughts.

_You were always on my mind._

He was always there.

_You were always on my mind._

He was always on your mind.

 


	3. Hop In

You twiddled with your pencil, quickly snapping it from side to side as you daydreamed. You were in your Theater class again, but this time without Mr. Baker. Undoubtedly, it would be far more great with him instead of your teacher. Your teacher couldn't be absent every day.

After you and Mr. Baker shared that moment in his classroom, he has constantly been on your mind. Something stuck with you after that, and you truly couldn't let it go. This was the first time you ever got close to even talking to him, let alone the physical contact. You couldn't help the smile that curled your cheeks; he made you feel things. Some damn good things.

When you left his classroom that day, you knew you had to see him again. Maybe not soon, but definitely sometime. Only two days had passed. You couldn't let an opportunity like this to fly under the radar. He made the first move, so you had to play the next. It was a game of chess and unknown desire.  He played innocently, but you played with ambition and knowing what you must do to win.

As the class came to an end, you dashed through the hall to the restroom on your right. The door flung open, and you walked up to the mirror in eager. You fixed your hair, smoothing the frizz that rested at the part of your hair. You pulled your shirt down slightly, having the slightest amount of cleavage show. After a quick check of your teeth, you walked out of the restroom.

You looked from side to side, and joined the stream of traffic. Everyone was in a hustle to get back home, or others were in a hustle to get to the rest of their classes. Regardless, it was packed. You thought it was for the best though, so you don't seem too eager to see him. Over-analyzing was your middle name. It wasn't like he could visit you, because he didn't know your schedule but you knew his very well.

As you stood beside his door, nervous to open it, you fixed your shirt once more. Maybe today he could teach you another song that would corrupt your entire world again. You smiled as you thought of that song he taught you last time. The meaning behind the words was so powerful that you couldn't help yourself but to think, maybe, just maybe, there was something more happening in that room than music.

You opened the door, and he was sitting at his desk, looking stressed. His right hand was strung through his hair, with his elbow resting on the table. His left was rested across the desktop, herding his papers. Mr. Baker clearly seemed unhappy. "You alright, Mr. Baker?"

He nodded carefully, not really wanting to ruin his comfortable position. "I'm just looking at these papers, I don't get how they could be so bad at Music Theory. Like, I know it can be difficult sometimes, but not so difficult you fail a test." Mr. Baker took his papers, and flared them on an angle. They showcased red ink that said a lot of 60% and below grades.

"I'm glad I didn't take Music Theory then," you said, coming in and sitting on one of the desktops. Mr. Baker for just a moment looked up, almost displeased at your remark. "Listen, you would so like Music Theory if I was the teacher." He smirked at you, creating creases on his cheeks. You smiled in return, and fiddled with your legs.

"Maybe you're right," you replied and took a few seconds to decide if you really wanted to say what was just about to come out of your mouth, "or maybe it's just the teacher I like." His eyebrows furrowed, causing his eyes to squint. He flashed his teeth with a great smile. He didn't look like he wanted to smile, but it seemed like he couldn't help himself. "You might just be my favorite student, Y/N," he teased, right before stacking his papers together. He then sat up in his seat, both hands extended to the rim of his desk. "So what's up?"

You crossed your leg over your other, and smiled brightly. "Just wanted to see you, that's all."

You couldn't say you're well-versed in the field of flirting, but you were pretty damn sure this was how it would play out. He then leaned forward on the desk, resting his head on both hands as if he was enthralled by everything you said. "Well that's flattering, thank you."

You nodded and then threw the question back at him, "so what's up with you?" He stretched his back out, and let a wall of cracking noises bounce into your ear drums. "I am working on an album right now. It really showcases my talents I think." "Oh," you cooed, "what's it gonna be called?"

"Sitting in the fire."

"Sounds mysterious."

"Its just my thoughts basically. Music is interactive. You'd place the record in, and it would be dependent on you as it spun until it was ready to play a different sound. Now we tap on our phones and play music that way, but it's still interactive." He seemed passionate about the topic, and you could see he really cared about music. Mr. Baker had a burning desire to let people know that there's a bond between the music and the player. They were both co-dependent on each other. The person wants music, and the music beckons. It was a sweet symphony of commitment to each other.

As time does so well, it made three hours of talking feel so short. Mr. Baker got up from his desk, as he looked at his phone for the time. "It's already 6:07. I should start heading out." You got off your desk as well, and formed a flirtatious smirk. "I guess time flies--"

"When you're having fun."

Your chest heaved, filling with tension. You both said it at the same time. There was a clear chemistry between the two of you, and you both knew it. Once you said it, he laughed and fingered through his hair. "Yeah, that."

As you left his room, he touched your arm gently, "I'll see you tomorrow." Your cheeks flushed red, so you dared not to look at him. Instead, you waved your hands behind you and said goodbye. You quickly hurried out of the classroom, and rested your back against the wall beside the door. He made you feel so...good.

In a rush for Mr. Baker not to see you in awe of him, you left the hall and made your way to the parking lot. Streetlights lit raindrops falling into large puddles on the sidewalk; it was already dark. You were marveled by how fast time flew with him. He and you talked about anything there was to talk about, and it all just felt so right. He'd tell you about how his album was coming along, and you'd tell him how your day was. The progress between these few days was extraordinary. You went from perfect strangers to almost...friends?

Whatever you were, you loved it. All you hoped though, was that he loved it too.

After unlocking your car, you sat inside, organizing all your belongings. Once the cold air began to settle in, you felt the hair on your arms raise. You drove your keys into the car, but instead of the warm, raspy ignition sound you heard a spur of failure. "Oh my god no," you said lowly, really hoping that your car would spontaneously turn on. You tried again, and the deep noise rang in your ears again. Of course this would happen. After trying several other times, still holding on to your pieces of optimism, you gave up.

You looked over your choices: call a tow truck, leave your car and act like it never happened, or wait for someone to help you get your car started. Your college budget really didn't want to pay for a tow truck, and your maturity really didn't want to leave your car somewhere overnight. Clearly option C was your best choice.

You looked out your car window to the school doors, waiting for someone to come out. The rain blurred your vision, but you could make out a blob that looked like a human walking towards the doors. You cheered happily, and searched your car for an umbrella. You were almost positive your mom bought one for your car that one time because she said "you never know when you'll need one", but it definitely wasn't in the car anymore.

You decided you'd rather be wet than sacrifice your poor car, so you quickly got out and waved your hand. Trying to yell over the raging downpour, you raised your voice, "hey, please do you know how to--"

You paused for a moment.

"--hi Mr. Baker."

He ran over to you, thankfully for his height it wasn't that far for him to go. He then held his umbrella over your head, "why haven't you left? More importantly, why aren't you in your car, you're going to catch a cold." You wrapped your hands around the umbrella, just centimeters above Mr. Baker's. "My car won't --thanks-- start, and I have no clue how to go about starting it."

He let go of his umbrella, and threw up the hood of his jacket. "One second." He then ran across the parking lot, making you worry that he may slip, and into his car. His headlights flashed on, shining on you and your car. His blue car then drove across the dark asphalt that was starting to resemble a lake, and right in front of your car. He got out, and lifted up the car's hood, then your's.

Next thing you know, he had two long cables stretching from one car to another. Every now and then a curse word would slip from his lips, then he would readjust the clips on your side of the car. After each adjustment he'd ask you to start up your car, but it wouldn't budge. As time was approaching 7:00 pm, you both gave up.

Closing the hoods of the cars, he yelled out, "I know this is unprofessional of me, but I think it is the only option here. Do you want a ride home?" You quickly jolted out  the word "yes", having your lips twitch as they almost couldn't catch up to your voice. "Yes, I would really, really appreciate that."

"Alright, hop in. We can talk about what to do with your car on the way to your place."

 


	4. Fuck It.

Just after you got situated in his comfortable car, he took off. In the side view mirror, you watched your car disappear in the dark rain. "Well," you said, never imagining that somehow you would end up in the same car as Troy Baker, "this is...interesting." He nodded quietly, not tearing his eyes from the infinite road streaming ahead.

"Here, hook up your phone," he said, while fiddling around in a cup holder. Then his hand brought a white cord up to your thigh; almost touching you, but not quite. "You heard my music, now I want to hear yours." You looked at him, watching the passing lights wash over his face every few seconds. Mr. Baker looked at you, and smiled. You of course darted your eyes away, afraid your cheeks were turning red. "Fine, but you might not like it" you said sarcastically, and plugged the aux cord into your phone.

You played indie, which you knew he liked. He started laughing, leaning forward and banging his palm onto the leather steering wheel. "Wow aren't you original." "I like to think I am but you seem to like my music anyway, so maybe you're the unoriginal one here."

"Y/N, not to sound all egotistical, but I make indie music. And --not to mention-- I am definitely older than you so that makes me the original and you the unoriginal one."

You ignored his response because you were too prideful to accept he was right. After flipping through songs, you mumbled lowly "you're not that old, so you don't get to say definitely as if you're like eighty years older than me."

"Awe, is someone upset?"

You snapped your neck and looked at him, "oh I am not upset! Why would I be upset? I have no reason to be--"

"Y/N I am 41 years old."

If you ever had to do a spit take, you'd imagine you'd be doing it right now. 41? That seemed impossible. He looked not a moment older than 30. You thought it could be a joke, but his matter-of-factly tone made it seem otherwise.

"You're kidding right."

"Nope." He smirked as he did a sharp right turn. You quickly did the math in your mind, thinking up the age difference. You bit the inside of your cheek after discovering, and looked outside the window at the rain, trying to distract your thoughts. You laughed at yourself for thinking that the dumb number would somehow pose a threat to your non-existent relationship.

"What?"

"Oh nothing I was just thinking--"

He then shockingly interrupted you, "wait, wait! I don't know where you live! Fuck, I'm sorry I was driving to my place on habit." A deep sigh escaped his lips, and rested on the air. You weren't sure how to get back to your apartment from here. You were on some sort of highway, but you didn't know which one.

"You know what," he said as he got off the nearest exit, "I'll grab my extra car battery, maybe we can fix your car and get you on your way."

"You know how to do that?"

"Sure, I know a few things about cars, we are nearly here anyway."

You nodded, and started taking in every detail of the location. He lived in a sweet kind of suburban area. Freshly cut grass began to get weighed down by the rain. "Well you live in luxury don't you," you said slowly, looking at all the glowing windows. "We aren't here yet, don't get your hopes too high now." He took a left turn, and into a condominium complex. They were just what you'd expect an underpaid teacher to be living in.

He circled through the neighborhood that started to seem more like a maze of cookie cutter homes. "And this would be my abode," Mr. Baker said in an old ritzy kind of voice. You physically cringed, and watched him get out of the car, unsure if you should do the same. He saw this and gestured you over, "you can come in if you'd like, up to you."

You nearly jumped out of the car and beat him to the door in one fluid moment. He laughed, and locked his car. Then, after a slow pace, he unlocked his door and lead you inside. His house had a very warm feeling to it, even though his walls were cold blues. He had records framed on the walls, and shelves had small novelty items that probably possessed some sweet element to him. A bookshelf divided the living room to the kitchen, but instead of the case being made of wood, it was made of glass so you could see through to the kitchen or vice versa. But the empty spaces on every shelf allowed you to see through anyway. He clearly had an eye for decór, or at least style. Anyone could tell that by just looking at his wardrobe though.

He took off his jacket and you took of yours as well, imagining you'd be here for a while. "It'll be a few minutes until I get everything ready. Help yourself to the fridge, the restroom is upstairs straight ahead. Yell if you need me." And with that, Mr. Baker disappeared to a side door on the right of you. To the left of the door he exited was the staircase, so you made your way up curiously. On the wall behind the railing was a bunch of pictures of artists he probably admired. It was cute to you how he made his home reflect his own interests.

You opened the restroom door, and we're greeted by bright white walls-- he clearly had a knack for cleaning. You closed the door behind you, and quickly used the restroom. After you left the small room, you battled with curiosity in order to not creep around his room. Instead, you walked back downstairs to his kitchen. You opened the metal refrigerator door, and we're greeted by a gust of cold air. Inside he had very few items aside from staple foods: a few beers, a few colas, cheese, tomatoes, and a foam leftover box. You were pleasantly surprised that he had glass cola bottles instead of regular tin cans. You popped the cap into the waste bin and looked around some more. Just right to the kitchen was his laundry room, and a storage closet.

'Let's just make sure he's not some murderer or anything', you thought to yourself as you slowly opened the grated closet door. 'Thank God, not a single dead body in sight.' You closed it just as slow as you opened it, and made your way to his bookshelf. "What are you reading, Mr. Baker?" You laughed at yourself and placed your cellphone on the coffee table, and began to read the titles on the spines of every novel.

He had comic books galore, many ones on the City of Gotham. He seemed to be enthralled by the D.C. Comic universe. On others, he had Harry Potter which oddly seemed fitting for him to read. On the second shelf dead center were a few cook books, giving you the impression he was some sort of chef and you didn't know it. Then moving right along to the third shelf was the old classics like Huckleberry Finn, The Outsiders, and all those books you would read during elementary school. On the very edge of the top shelf though, a worn book caught your eye. You pulled it down carefully to eye level. The covers no longer existed, and the spine --which would typically carry the name of the novel-- was so worn, you could only see hints of text. You began to flip through the pages, curious to see what book he loved so much for it to become this way.

"The Great Gatsby," a voice caved out. You turned around, almost jumping out of your skin. In Mr. Baker's hands was a car battery, and in a baggie swung around his wrist were presumably tools he'd need. "You like The Great Gatsby?" A smile crept onto his tanned skin "that might be an understatement." He then plucked the book from your hands, putting your unnecessary caution to shame. His fingers began to methodically strum through the pages as he made his way to a long faded couch. Tossing the bags aside as if to show he was comfortably seated, he began to point to all the annotations in each page.

"Something about Fitzgerald's writing speaks to me." He seemed to be the type that enjoyed interesting writing styles where readers had to pick apart a story to find the true meaning. You then stood in front of him, looking down at the book. With one loud tap, you pointed at a phrase underlined in blue ink. Mr. Baker then read aloud, "'They're such beautiful shirts,' she sobbed, her voice muffled in the think folds. 'It makes me sad because I've never seen such – such beautiful shirts before.'" 

"Why would she cry over shirts?" You asked, fully confident that Daisy, the girl crying over some shirts, was a lunatic. "She's not crying over the shirts," he sighed, with a smile forming at the edges of his lips. "She loves him so much that she can't help but to cry at the sight of his possessions because it reminds her of him." You let the information sink into your mind, trying to piece together the entire story again from the last time you read it, and in a burst of triumphant brilliance you exclaimed,  
"That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard."

With a quick scoff, he then rummaged through the pages again, as if he was shuffling cards for a new game. With a large tap of his thumb, he displayed two pages full of annotations. "Try again."

Drawing your left hand over your eyes, you dragged your right index finger along the aged paper. You brought both hands down to your hips as you heard his voice. "'I love you now – isn't that enough? I can't help what's past.' She began to sob helplessly. 'I did love him once – but I loved you too.' Gatsby's eyes opened and closed. 'You loved me TOO?' he repeated."

The sharp of his jaw began to clench, synchronized with the redness that began to flood the tips of his ears. He probably was wishing you didn't choose such a romantic qoute. Likewise, you regretted your blind decision as your cheeks began to flame. Mr. Baker shut his eyelids shamefully, and his lips curled inward tightly. You fell completely in love with his embarrassed face, and all you longed for was to touch his warm face.

Your fingertips nervously came up to his chin, gently pushing him to look up. Your right thumb then perched on the tip of his chin, dragging his bottom lip down with it. His eyes darted from yours following a pattern of left to right then left to right again. You brought your other hand up, strumming against his scratchy facial hair as you found yourself beside his ear. You then leaned down, coming closer to his shaken breath. He seemed just as nervous as you, it was calming in a way. Your lips were almost against his, when you tumbled forward.

"Woah, you okay?" Mr. Baker asked calmly. You blunk suddenly, shattering the fantasy your mind had created. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine." Your right hand wasn't on his lip, and your left wasn't drawing him closer... Apparently you didn't move at all, except when you woke yourself up from the day dream by falling forward. You felt like an idiot.

Almost as if he was closing the awkward tension, he shut the book and got up. You, still in shock, did not move a muscle. His hair brushed against your chin as he began to tower over you. His body was nearly pressing against your own. You looked up, wondering if he knew just how close he was. Mr. Baker looked down, locking eyes with you. You couldn't focus on either blue eye, so you continued to shift from one to the other. Your cheeks began to turn red again, your heart began to thump against his chest. His right hand then came up slowly as if it was a movie. You watched it from the side of your eye, afraid to break the stare. It crept closer to your face, making your breathing pattern lose control. Mr. Baker then gripped on to your shoulder, parallel to his. He began to stoop inward, coming only inches away from your face. You thought your heart was going to jump out of your chest, but then he softly pushed you aside as he walked away. The air that was gathering in your lungs heaved out in disappointment, and you scornfully watched him bring the book back to the book case.

"Alright, you ready?" He asked, turning around, sliding the plastic bags back onto his wrist. You nodded without a single word escaping your lips, and headed for the door. You spitefully walked outside, and stood in the rain beside his car. Coming out of the condo, he locked the front door and got inside the blue car. You sat in the passenger, watching his hands fiddle around from the driver's side, trying to position all his tools in the backseat without getting up. Wanting to just go home, you naturally wondered what the time was. Your hand calmly touched the side pocket of your pants until you realized your phone was no longer there. You then began to slap all sides of your body sporadically, freaking out. "Fuck!" You cried out, then quickly remembering you left it somewhere in his home. "...I left my phone inside your house."

He looked out from the backseat, and to you. "Fine," he sighed, "okay." He plugged his keys out of the car, and followed you to the front door. He frustratedly toyed with the lock until successfully letting you in. You went straight to kitchen, thinking you left it beside the fridge. Mr. Baker then approached the coffee table, and held your phone in the air like a gold medal. You smiled, and grabbed it swiftly from his grip. You clicked on the time, noticing it had been a little over an hour since you were last at your car. You spent an hour with Mr. Baker outside of school... your heart fluttered at the thought. You gracefully closed your eyes, and held your phone to your chest before putting it in your pocket.

"You good, Y/N?"

You looked up at Mr. Baker holding the door open for you. Without a single expression on your face except determination, you strutted carefully to the door. Instead of walking through, you slammed the front door closed with your palm. He looked at you in confusion, not sure what was happening. You then corralled him between your arms, pressing him against the door with your left hand. You smirked deviously, and shot your hands from each side to his beard, dragging his face down to your's. Your soft lips attacked his rough mouth, creating a beautiful contrast.

He brought his hands up, framing your face and then pulled away. "This is wrong Y/N," he mumbled out, until fully recovering from your kiss, "we really shouldn't." You looked at him, locking eyes once again. He knew he wanted to continue, but he knew it would be terribly unprofessional. "You're right," you said softly. Drawing away from him, you re-positioned your shirt as if it would make you feel less awkward. Mr. Baker stroked his beard, as if he wasn't sure what to do. You watched his eyes look you up and down, and then focus on the floor boards.

"Fuck it."

 


	5. Every Inch

"Fuck it," he said aggressively, and pressed his lips against your own. You could feel he began to form a smile as he realized he made the right choice. Without breaking the kiss, his hands fell to your hips, and walked you to the couch before he threw you down. Your back bounced up and down onto the cushions, then was covered in his tall body. Like a puzzle, your legs intertwined perfectly. For a brief moment he looked at you seemingly mesmerized by your affection, but continued without hesitation. Mr. Baker traced your soft jaw with the tips of his fingers, and slowly slid them into your hair with a gentle grip. Heat was building on your lip as his facial hair irritated your skin; you couldn't deny you loved the sensation. You felt satisfied already just knowing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

While his left hand tugged on your hair, his right traced down your body and to your waist, fitting at the curve. His thumb tickled the bottom of your ribcage letting the rest of his fingers curl to your back's long indent. He held you like a prized possession, something he was proud of achieving. Mr. Baker's kisses then began to lead down your neck, almost as if he was eager to carry onto something more impactful.

His hand then pulled on the soft fabric of your shirt, and lifted it up slightly. He pushed himself down your body, and licked your stomach like that of an animal. It was such a sensation; his velvet like lick then his aggressive beard scratching at the wetness. Mr. Baker's head was now parallel to your womanhood. You were certain if it weren't for your jeans, it would be skin on skin. His hands extended to your chest, slipping below your laced bra. The rough edges of his fingertips groped at your firm breasts, squeezing and rotating in small circles. You were so amazed at all that was happening that you couldn't barely snap to the reality that this WAS happening.

You got impatient by his teasing, and tore of your shirt and bra. He watched as your soft breasts jiggled slightly as you re-positioned on the couch. Mr. Baker smiled, and held the button of your jeans below his rough fingers. With a nod, he undid your jeans. You lifted your body up and let him slide the denim down your body. Almost like a sudden drastic change, he gently trailed his skin up your legs then softly kissing your lips. It was a dance you both played very well; one step forward and one step backward. You went to the silent rhythm of your heartbeats, one motion after another.

His tongue found his way to yours without a problem, and softly pressed against your own. He was trying to sample your taste, almost like he wanted the flavor of you to stay on his lips forever. In one swift movement, he tore his mouth from yours and whispered deeply, "you don't fucking know how badly I've wanted you, Y/N." Something about the sound of his voice being tainted by lust drove your womanhood mad. You were positive your panties were soaked through and through at that point.

You knew what you had to do, and you took his button-down shirt by the collar and dragged his face centimeters away from your own, to the point where you felt his steamed breath shatter onto your lips, and said, "then do something about it." With those exact words, he thrusted his pelvis directly into you, colliding your folds with a thick erection below his pants. "What do you think I'm doing," he growled, knowing he controlled your body.

You quickly undid his shirt, and slid below his body to undo his pants but he stopped you by pinning down your shoulder to the couch. "Let me do it little girl." With him just saying that, you swore you died then resurrected in one single second. He flipped you over, making you go on all fours. You quietly listened to the jingle of his belt slipping through the pant loops, then being discarded to the floor. With one quiet unzipping noise, you felt something spring onto your hot skin. The tip was wet, leaking with precum.

Almost like a reflex, you arched your back and moved into him. A quiet moan escaped Mr. Baker's lips, and then followed by him reaching into his pockets and pulling out his wallet. Plucking a condom from it's confinements, he then rolled it onto his length. Although you didn't need it, the condom added extra lubricant. Mr. Baker gripped the base of his girthy cock, and guided himself along your leaking wetness. "Tell me you want it, Y/N."

"You're going to make me beg?"

"I'm going to fuck you senseless and I want to hear you cry out for me," his hand then instantly tugged your hair, forcing your head back, "is that too much to ask?" A groan slipped through your open mouth and lingered in the quiet air. As he slowly released your hair, you quietly spoke, "I want to feel all of your cock inside me, Mr. Baker. Now."

You weren't sure if it was you calling him Mr. Baker or your attempt at dirty talk, but something came over him and possessed him to grab onto your hips and thrust his entire length inside of you. It was remarkable: you were certain he reached your womb in a single thrust. He was large though, so unexpectedly large that tears rushed to your eyes and you couldn't help but wince in pain. "Hey," he said, pushing your further into him, "you wanted to be full of me. You're getting what you deserve."

He pulled out of you until the tip was at your entrance again,  
" _every_ "  
then slammed into you harder than last time,  
" _inch_."

He wouldn't give you any break in between each thrust to adjust, he just  _gave_  it to you. Hard. Mr. Baker made sure his imprint was left into your softness, and that everyone would know who was inside you. Maybe it was a territory thing, or maybe he didn't even realize how hard he was actually going, but you were certain that as soon as you got off of the couch you were going to collapse from soreness. It was so worth it.

His hands slid into the crease between your hips and thighs, digging the nail on his thumbs into your skin. You were certain it was just the heat of the moment, but it felt  _so_  good. His entire home was filled with the noise of skin pounding against skin, which danced with the noise of your moans meeting his low grunts. "Mr. Baker," you gasped out in search for air, feeling the insides of you swirl in and out. Having such a large member inside of you felt foreign but at the same time, so perfect. Your body almost was unsure of how to respond to the mix of pain and pleasure. Somehow though, Mr. Baker made the pain you felt feel so raw and sexy.

Almost as if he knew what you were thinking, he bent down and nibbled at your exposed back, trailing down as far as he could. It felt like there was some sort of animal-like demon possessing his insides, scratching at him to be freed. He dug his erection inside of your pulsating core, and plunged it out in the next moment. Every single motion he made matched with a low, raspy breath. The noises were divine.

In and out he went, picking up more and more speed with every moment, making sure not to let his craving for you go to waste. "I've wanted you so bad, Y/N," he quietly whispered closely to your ear, letting his voice naturally get lower at the end of your name. "I've seen you everywhere," he tugged at your hair with his left hand, "there was no way I was going to let an opportunity like this slip by." 

The passion in your heart was beginning to punch at the walls of your chest, you weren't sure how much longer you could take it. You didn't know that he had the same dying feelings for you, or at least that he wanted you almost as badly as you wanted him. It made you feel so accomplished. You did it, with a well deserved prize in return.

"I've had a crush on you since I f-first saw you," you shyly admitted, unsure if you should have said that or not. He stopped all his movements, "really?" You then lowered your hand to his erection, and slipped him out of you. You took a moment to take a breath, then continued, "yeah, I did." You then turned around, facing the red-cheeked teacher. With all the heavy thrusting and pounding, he sure was exhausted. With a devious smile creeping on your face, you reversed the roles and pinned him down on the couch, much like he did just a bit ago. He was astonished for some reason--  _did he really not know you liked him?_

You pulled his body down the length of the couch, and then aligned yourself with his aching cock. Slowly stroking his member, you pushed yourself down onto him. He groaned delightfully, curving his head backwards. You could feel yourself falling for the way he looked under your control: he wanted to power over you but the way you worked his body wouldn't allow him to do so. Your entrance swallowed his entire length until there was no more. Your warm, velvet walls enclosed him like a love letter in an envelope, sending off to a far away land of bliss. 

Curling and rolling your body on his bare pelvis, you got to study what each move made his face create. You pushed forward on Mr. Baker and his brows would furrow in pleasure. You slid off his length and his eyes would be overwhelmed with disappointment. Once you found a rhythm though, you no longer were allowed to play games and study his reactions. Suddenly, just as your body rotated on Mr. Baker's body, his hands slammed against your hips. "If you keep doing that," he pulled his head up and looked into your eyes with nothing but pure lust tainting the gaze, "I am going to cum."

You leaned down, almost to tease him with your absolute control, and kissed his lips. "Good."

Right away, you began to rotate yourself on his member. His head shot back down in pure ecstasy but his hands still remained on your hips. You picked up the pace, making each circle you created faster and faster. His breath became broken suddenly as he gripped your thighs. "God-- Y/N" he cried out, wishing the feeling would never end. You felt his grip loosen on you dramatically as his erection began to pulsate inside you. The walls of your insides closed in on him, making you curve your back. The feeling was too much for your body to handle, and in almost a sense of pride, you climaxed. Waves of pleasure tickled at your womb, and all the way up to your heart. Like a dance, your heartbeat and orgasm played together all at once. A great symphony escaped your lips as your back curved away from him.

Collapsing against him, your two sticky bodies clung together. Mr. Baker then let his hand roam down your body, fondling your waist line, then to where your two bodies were joined together. He pulled himself out of you, and slipped off the condom. "I never," he caught his breath for a brief moment, "I never knew I could feel like that. Your body is amazing Y/N." You smiled, and kissed his lips feeling that you accomplished a goal, "thank you, Mr. Baker."

"Just call me Troy."

You were overcome by a schoolgirl-like giggle and quietly spoke, "alright then, Troy" before falling asleep in his grasp.


	6. Colleagues

"Y/N...Y/N...hey..."

Your eyes slowly opened, trying to readjust to the bright light flooding the room. You then realized you fell asleep on Mr. Baker, who was looking right at you. "I really, really didn't want to wake you up...but I don't know when your classes are, but mine starts soon...I'm sorry." He said it all very quietly, turning on his phone with one hand to show you the time. You then jumped up from his body, trying to ignore the very loud sound of your sweaty skin peeling off of each other. "My class starts in--!"

You then looked down from his eyes, and to his beautiful body. He was naked, right below you. Mr. Baker's chest was lightly covered in hair, and a happy trail slowly lead to his manhood- the place you were sitting directly on. "Fuck." You sighed in lust, not being able to believe that you had sex with him. "Mr. Baker, you--"

"Troy."

"Troy you are so attractive. I can't believe you."

He smiled and held your waist, roaming up and down so lovingly. "And you, I just can't believe it finally happened." For some reason, it wasn't awkward regardless of both of you having morning breath and being completely bare. You couldn't help but to think it was love, but you knew just how stupid it would be to believe that.

"I really should be getting ready now. Could I use your restroom?" You asked, and he beckoned with his hand, pointing to upstairs, "be my guest." You then un-straddled him, and ran off upstairs not being able to shake the feeling of his piercing blue eyes watching you. You ran into his restroom and turned on the sink. You were positive you'd have no time to shower, so a quick rinse off would be as good as it got. You took a gulp of his green mouthwash and spat it out, washing your face right after. You looked at yourself in the mirror is disbelief. You still couldn't believe it.

A loud knock called out from the restroom door. You opened it slightly, and there in Mr. Baker's hand was your jeans and underwear with one of his tee shirts. "Oh thank you," you said, trying to silence your inner screaming that he was giving you his shirt to wear. You closed the door quickly, and slipped on the clothes. The shirt was dark and long sleeved, that fell to your mid thigh. It actually looked cute with your jeans, surprisingly enough. You tossed your hair around, trying to make the bed hair look not as bad.

You then walked outside of the restroom and looked to your left. Mr. Baker was sliding on his dark blue jeans, slowly but surely. His shirtless body flexed once and again as he raised the waist higher to each hip. Troy's body was something you couldn't peel your eyes from. His body was hunched over, showing the beautiful back muscles he had. The way his shoulder blades fluctuated sent butterflies to the pit of your stomach. The fire began to burst as he stretched his entire back out. He squeezed his shoulders inward as the rest of his body spread wide like an eagle. He then twisted himself on the waist, turning just enough to catch a glimpse of you gawking at him before you scurried away.

You, with blushed cheeks, quickly made your way to his kitchen, and made two cups of steaming hot coffee. You weren't sure what he enjoyed, so you left his black. As you stirred in your sugar and creamer, you looked around at the living room. Instead of the pillows being displayed on the couch, they were scattered amongst the floor. There, on the coffee table, was the shirt you wore yesterday. Troy took it upon himself to fold it neatly. Something about the way you silently communicated made it feel as if you were a married couple. The two of you clicked so well.

Troy trotted down the stairs, a messenger bag swung across his shoulder. His hair was pushed to the side, little to no hair gel was used. His eyes darted to your's, sending a warm smile your way. "So, as I was saying, when does your class start?" You turned on your nearly dead phone, and sighed, "there's no way I'll make it in time. I'll skip the first class." Mr. Baker scoffed, and rerouted to the kitchen instead of the front door.

"You bad girl," he whispered lowly into your ear as he passed you. You looked at him, feeling your cheeks rise in color. "Well, I guess I can make us some coffee-- oh, you already did?" Troy then leaned over the long kitchen counter, peering into the dark brew inside the mug. With a tickled laugh, he brought the ceramic cup to his lips and took a sip. "No sugar, no cream. How'd you know?" You, still flushed red, smiled at him. "It's just my intuition I guess!" He held your cup in his hands as he approached you and slid it into your palms. With his now free right hand, he grazed the side of his pointer finger on your soft skin. You watched his beautiful blues focus on the heated pores of your skin. "You're blushing, why?"

"Why?!", you yelled, underestimating how loud you could be. You nearly shook the coffee right out of it's confinements. "Do you  _really_  not remember what you called me?" He then drew his finger from your temple to the peak of your chin, raising your head to look at him. "Watch it, young lady. You're talking to a professor, don't forget." You were buckling at your knees at this point, trying to contain the vivid feelings that were beginning to form between your legs. Something about him saying 'professor' made it all so real. You technically had an affair with a teacher, and he technically had an affair with a student. No matter how you looked at it, the situation was bad.

"... right", you said meekly, and backed up. He seemed to realize just how bad the situation was, too. You both quietly headed for the door; he grabbed something from the coffee table and then opened the door for you. The musty smell of wet grass smacked your nose, it must have rained all night. Troy then hustled out the door, his arms full of miscellaneous things. "I didn't realize it rained," you said quietly, trying to fill the silence with silly small talk. "Well, we were busy doing... other things." Troy quickly unlocked his car, also trying to make it less quiet. You couldn't help but to nervously laugh at the situation.

You slipped into the car, closing the door loudly. Every noise that was made felt like a sweet relief. He did the same, and slapped down on your lap suddenly your shirt. "Forget something?" You held the soft fabrics below your fingertips, fiddling with the stitching. "I guess so, thanks for folding it. That was really sweet of you."

"It's the least I could do."

You held it close to your face, until a putrid scent clogged your nostrils. 'Oh my god, did I really sweat that much? I didn't know I was  _that_  nervous!' You pulled the shirt away and realized that Troy must have smelled your top too. Why else would he have given you his shirt? Although you were deeply embarrassed, you were slightly touched that Troy would do such a kind deed for you. After doing a series of turns, he got onto the highway.

"So should we talk about the elephant in the room, or no?" He asked nonchalantly, as he handed you his phone, along with the tip of the aux cord. You plugged the male jack into his phone; for some reason it sent butterflies to the pit of your stomach knowing he trusted you enough to give you his phone. You turned it on, looking at the lock screen. It was a photo of a guitar, assumingly his. "Yeah, I guess we are kind of in a situation... Also I need a password."

"Well I'll start off by saying -- _4,1,76_ \-- this was extremely unprofessional of me and I'm sorry." You looked at him, shocked to hear he was sorry. You turned on the phone, and went into the music app, playing the most recent music. Not only did he trust you with his phone, but also his password. "Why are you apologizing? We are two adults. There's no problem with that."

"Okay, but I am a teacher who just slept with a student. I could be wrong, but I think there's a problem."

He turned right, off the highway.

"That's true, but it just happened once. It isn't like this will happen again, right?"

He accidentally jolted his jaw backward slightly. It seemed that Troy was slightly offended that you didn't think anything more would happen with the two of you. It could have been your imagination that he was offended of course; maybe you guys drove over a bump and his head did that naturally. He scoffed deeply and turned left, "right, but you're a student. This shouldn't have happened."

"But it did. Should we just act like it didn't happen?"

His head then shot over to look at you, "no--! What do you mean? It happened, and the feelings were real too. I'd rather act like it  _did_  happen then."

"Okay, so then what do you want to do?"

Troy then looked back at the road, pulling into the campus. "We should be professional about it. You're still my student, and I'm still your teacher. We are colleagues. That's it."

You frowned on the right side of your face, making sure he couldn't see that you were actually disappointed. "Alright, that's fine." You both sat there in silence. The music he was playing began to fade in the canals of your ear drums. All you could hear was the sound of your own heart slowly cracking.

Mr. Baker then pulled into his faculty parking spot, and looked at you. "So, how are we gonna do this? Am I gonna get out, or should I drop you off; I just don't want to look suspicious." You grabbed your shirt, your phone, and the coffee you made earlier. "We walk. Don't think about it too much,  _colleague_ ," you replied, and shut your door.

He then got out after you, trying to pick up his pace. "Hey, are you mad at me or something?" You shook your head in reply, and looked at him. "No, I don't think so." He laughed, and swung his messenger bag over his shoulder. "You don't think so?" You couldn't help but smile because of his great laugh. Somehow he knew how to break the anger in you. "Shut up," you laughed quietly into your hand, "come on, you'll miss your class."

When you got into the school, you surprisingly made it to the first class-- only missing 3/4 of the day's agenda. You didn't bother to go in, so you just waited outside of your second class of the day that would start nearly immeadiately after the first. The day was rather long, especially because last night was on your mind. You couldn't allow the memory of such a hard feeling inside of you disappear. The feeling of him shaping your insides like clay was too delectable. Your heart was racing all day. In the middle of your second to last class, you decided to peruse your email. It wasn't like you were missing anything important in the lecture; the professor seemed to know how to talk about fractions for hours.

"Y/N" the subject of an email read. Intrigued, you clicked on it. Almost as if he knew you were planning to check your mail, Troy was the most recent messaged in your inbox.

"I see you have a break for an hour after this class. Want to swing by  
Troy"

You smiled, and quickly replied, hoping you weren't too late. "How'd you get my email?, Y/N" Almost instantly, you received a response.

"Is that really a question? I'm a professor; I have access to everything. That's how I know you have some time between classes.  
Troy"

"So, you're stalking me now?, Y/N"

"Maybe I'm just interested in you.  
Troy"

Your heart fluttered, almost making you fall into your laptop's keyboard. Was he admitting his feelings, or was this just a ploy to get you to sleep with him again? You hated that you had to analyze everything so deeply, but it was force of habit. You didn't want to hurt yourself more than you had to.

"...Aren't we just colleagues?, Y/N."

He didn't respond for a while after your email, making you feel as if you shouldn't have said that. You were stuck on the whole colleague thing for some reason.. you weren't even sure why. Mr. Baker was right, you have to remain professional. What happened shouldn't have happened, regardless of how much you enjoyed it. You sat through the rest of the class, not hearing from him again. Instead of messaging him, you tried to translate your conversation from earlier. So does he have feelings for you or not?-- that was the big question on the table. He said that he didn't want to just ignore the feelings, but he also said that you  _should_  ignore the feelings. You couldn't help but be confused.

Suddenly, as you refreshed your inbox one more time before turning off your computer, you got an email.

"Come to my room. Now."


	7. Now

  
You sat in your seat, contemplating the email you received. " _Now_ ," Troy demanded. It was something you never expected him to ask so frankly, especially after he deemed you his colleague. You hadn't even been in class for a full hour yet and you were already ready to leave. You looked around the lecture hall, watching all the glum faces slowly creep into sleep. Even the math professor seemed like he wasn't interested in fractions anymore. You knew if you were going to leave, you most likely wouldn't miss anything.  
You quietly slid your laptop into your bookbag, and slowly got out of your chair trying not to disturb the rest of the class. You held your coffee mug tightly in your grasp and stumbled through the aisles of chairs making your way for the exit's corridor. You stood outside of the room, closing the hall's door quietly with a deep exhale. That was only step one to your journey, now you had to navigate yourself to his office. With one step to your left on the cold tile, you made your way to him. Finding your way there wouldn't be that difficult, but knowing that it was still during office hours meant that there could be other people in his room. You hoped with every beat in your heart that it would just be you and him. He most likely wanted to meet to discuss last night and your —for the lack of better words— "relationship" in greater detail. It would be too personal of a matter to speak of with other people nearby.

Once you found your way to his room, you knocked quietly on the large wooden door. One knock, two knock, three knock;  _nothing_. The long heartstrings that resided inside of you thumped against each other. Everything inside of you was twisting and curling, letting your anxiety get the best of you. You looked at your fist, then to the brown wood.  _One_   _last_   _time_ , you said to yourself, hitting the dark board louder than before. The tips of your fingernails dug into your soft skin, as you impatiently waited. You listened carefully, hoping to hear some sort of noise; and luckily, you did.

You peered inside the glass panel in the door, hoping to see the familiar blonde but all you could see were empty desk chairs. Then, you heard a sudden thump come from inside the room, followed by quick stomps on the floor. Your ears followed the sound like a trail, up until Mr. Baker stood in front of the window. He heaved a slow breath, smiling at you as the door opened wide.

"Y/N," another gust of air escaped Troy's lips, "you came." You nodded in almost the same amount of surprise that he shared, while still debating in your head whether it was a good idea to visit him or not. He offered a small, uncomfortable smile as he held the door for you.

Quickly, almost in one single glance, you scanned the entire room. Desks, whiteboards, and one large table in the front accompanied by a podium. And, to your relief, not another person around. You made your way to the front, and sat down on the long wooden tabletop. Mr. Baker, left with no choice, sat across from you on the top of a desk. "So," you said quietly, placing your hands on the tips of your knees. "Soo," he prolonged his 'o's to an unnecessary amount, trying to make you crack a smile.

"What was so important that you  _had_  to see me right now?"

Troy cleared his throat, averting his eyes from you as if he was ashamed. You watched just how hard he tried to not make eye contact with you; his light blue eyes following the pattern of floor, wall, your lips, then back at the floor. "I just," he mumbled, now looking at the wall as if it had never been more interesting than this very moment. "I just wanted to clear up what I meant earlier."

"Okay," you insisted in a condescending kind of voice, "and that is?"

He danced around the topic with little ease, if you could  _call_  it dancing. He more or less was drunkenly stumbling near the topic. "I didn't mean to sound so brutal when I called you my colleague. Now we are more than that... right? I mean we shared a moment together." You scoffed, shaking your head at his remark. "You call that a  _moment_? God, you need to think before you say things." Troy sharply inhaled, thinking he offended you. "It— it was more than that! There were emotions that we felt." He gulped a larger breath of air than the last one, taking a second to refocus his main point of the entire conversation.

"We aren't  _just_  colleagues; there's no way we could be. All I am trying to say, and I know I'm not doing a great job at this, but I want to be more than just friends." Troy leaned in forward, finally looking into your eyes. You watched his cheeks flair up into aggressive shades of pink, "I want to take you out on a date. That's  _really_  what I am trying to say right now." You couldn't help but to smile at his silly muttering. Troy seemed to be really awful at confronting his feelings in every situation you've been in, but god, seeing him act so shy and vulnerable was  _too damn cute_ not for you to want to see it again. He began to stumble over gathering his words again, muttering out "I owe you a date anyway," as a way to justify his reasoning for asking you out, but of course his execution was less than graceful. "We don't have to if you don't want to, I just feel like maybe it would be good to get to know you better...just see what this whole Y/N thing is about."

You smiled brightly, and then leaned in to touch his leg,  
"I'd love to."


	8. Masterpiece

Ever since that day, that one  _amazing_  day, you haven't been able to scratch the thought of him. Blonde hair, shimmering blues, the small beauty marks along the creases of his smile; all these little things were unstoppable in your ever-moving mind. Sitting in class was once such a simple task, but now, sitting in class is the thought of him interrupting his lecture only to discipline you for not paying attention. Making coffee was no longer a mindless part of your day, because now all you could think of is  _'no sugar, no cream, how'd you know?'_. Troy Baker was no longer a crush, he became an addiction.

Your mind replayed all the situations over and over, like a movie rewinding endlessly. Those flared cheeks as he mumbled, 'I'd like to be more than just friends', the way his eyebrows furrowed after your first kiss, and the way he held the small of your back after fucking you mercilessly. Nothing could shut the thoughts out of your mind, especially now as you prepared for your first date with him.

Looking up from your makeup pallette, you locked eyes with yourself in your restroom mirror. The apple of your cheeks were crimson, thanks to your dirty thoughts...  _yep_ , and you began to think about it again. His size, his motions, his actions-- you could barely keep your legs from buckling out. You could nearly drown in how many scandalous thoughts flowed through your mind each day. Though, you couldn't let your head get the best of you; you needed to focus. The date, the date, the date.

Right, the  _date_. Troy had it all thought out, you couldn't help but admire how hard he tried to make it perfect. Every now and then between the last conversation you shared with him in his classroom and to this day, a little email would appear in your inbox.

"Totally school related" was the title of the first email. You would chuckle quietly just thinking about how unprofessional it was.

"Y/N," the letter began,   
"If you could visit Italy, America (I know we are already here, don't bother asking why), China, or Mexico where would you go? Troy". Now to any other person reading this email, they would think it is just a simple question. Though, to you and Troy, he was asking where would you like to go out to eat. Emailing through the school services had to remain professional, so an unspoken code was made.

You've received many of these cryptic letters from him, and the thought of him trying so hard to keep this undercover only tickled your stomach. The clear solution to no longer using this code would be to do the obvious and swap numbers, but neither of you had the confidence to ask. Plus, you enjoyed the silly questions he'd ask.

"Y/N,   
Spring is a great season; the flowers are already starting to bloom. I'm conducting a student survey, what's your favorite flower?  
Troy"

"Y/N,  
I hope you're studying your literature, the midterm will be soon for your Professor Edgar course. He and I were discussing the curriculum and the novels used, which piece was your favorite? Your input would really benefit us.  
Troy"

You played coy in your responses, and made it out as if he was only an advisor to you, whom would merely guide you as you tried to make it through college.

"Professor Baker,  
Thank you for coming to me with all your great questions. I really appreciate you giving me insight as to what it is like to be a teacher; it will definitely benefit me as I also plan to become a teacher myself. To answer, I love marigolds as they just dazzle any room with their warm yellows and I also really enjoyed our focus on The  _Catcher in the Rye_  this year. I believe it truly allows us to appreciate our time as children.  
Thank you,  
Y/N."

The emails between the two of you were silly, sure, but they meant a lot considering the few times you'd see him around campus. Today was an exception though, and you had been waiting a week for whatever he had in-store.

With a final glance in the mirror, you offered yourself one last smile. Your main objective was to not be  _too_  dolled up, but at the same time, be outstandingly gorgeous. After a few turn-a-rounds, you held your waist. There was no denying it: you looked  _good_. A red as blood sweater clung to your curves, falling off your shoulders to expose the straps of a black lace bra. Paired so beautifully, you had slim black jeans on with dark combat boots. You looked ready to kick some ass, but going on a date with a cute guy was a close second.

It would be a lie if you said you weren't nervous, but how could you not be? You were going on a date with a sexy man you've had a crush on for what felt like forever-- you were going on a date with a  _professor_. It felt scandalous, it felt wrong, but most importantly: it felt sexy. You couldn't deny yourself that you liked how forbidden of a fruit the affair was, and how you truly liked to taste the depth of the flavors within every bite. A new taste would develop from every small nibble taken, and whether it be a sour or sweet flavor, you loved it.

Your roommates had no idea about him, and it wasn't like they needed to know anyway. Though, an unexpected knock is easy to be heard through such a small apartment. 'Please,' you sighed in despair at the thought of that knock being made by none other than Troy, a little less than half an hour early. Almost like a predetermined sequence of events, your curious roommates all flooded out of their rooms. As you stood in the restroom, all you could hear were murmurs of "who is that?", "he looks familiar", and your favorite: "he looks like my music professor!" which soon was followed by a quick, "don't be ridiculous, why would  _he_  be here?". They clearly were snooping through the peep hole, until you opened the restroom door and grabbed all of their attention.

"Y/N why do you look so cute?"  
-  
"Are you going somewhere?"  
-  
"Wait a minute, are you going out with this guy?!"

You couldn't help but to quietly laugh, then offer a meek nod. The two nearly knocked each other down trying to open the door first, both extremely excited to get a better glimpse at whoever this mystery man was. Their hands in unison opened the door, and for a moment, you felt the world slow down. As the door opened more and more, the small smirk on Troy's face crept into large smile. Your eyes could barely take in his beauty, everything had just seemed  _so slow_.

The blonde streaks of his hair shuffled to the side as he peered his head beyond the door, trying to find your face. When he did, oh how those blue eyes shimmered. The cold pools began to glow like the moon, and his dark pupils grew larger every passing second like the infinite night sky. The creases left on his cheeks from that great smile paired greatly with the ever growing warm tint across the bridge of his nose. Handsome would truly be an understatement,  _beautiful_  would meet his appearance perfectly, but then his personality created a dynamic. Troy's great sense of humor danced around the great sense of knowledge he had. The man was a creation of brilliance, the man was a creation of beauty. He was a masterpiece, unfinished. Though he found you, and you were the paint to his canvas. You weren't sure if you added gloomy grays or vibrant reds, but he saw you as the glowing center of his painting. Together, a creation of clashing colors but beautiful meaning.

Together, a masterpiece.


End file.
